


“I rather like the smell of absurdity in the morning.”

by notjustmom



Series: Tom Robbins Remix [25]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, M/M, Tom Robbins, just fluffy idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-18 09:38:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14210307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom





	“I rather like the smell of absurdity in the morning.”

John finished drinking his tea and stood at the window, watching as Sherlock was shoveling their driveway again, even as the snow fell in clumps. He'd never seen so much snow in his life. He sat down at his desk, once again, put down his empty mug and picked up his pen, then put it down once more, as he found himself drift into a reverie.

 

Once upon a time... yes, yes, alright... 

Well, to be honest, there were moments when John did wonder if he were in fact trapped in the pages of one of those ancient German volumes of fairy tales that inhabited one corner of the bookcase. On some days, he was responsible for slaying whatever dragon that needed slaying; on other occasions, he found himself in the role of the damsel in distress - and at some point, he came to the realization that as absurd as it should be to the rational, practical part of his brain, the rest of him seemed to be quite content with the turn his life had taken.

He'd had a plan, once. There had honestly been a plan, it was how he survived the early years of his existence. He remembered making a list in blue crayon in a practice book, which he kept hidden under his bed, of what he would do, what he would become, who he would marry, he had a girl picked out, hmmm what was her name... Eliza? She had copper hair and a sprinkle of freckles over her nose - he gave a brief thought to what had become of her, then surfaced to blink at the snow still falling outside and snorted as he considered his 'plan'... he would finish school top of his class, which he did without breaking a sweat, then escape to Uni, and then onto med school... he hadn't quite considered how his genetics would follow him. He had inherited his father's hair trigger temper, which he had tried to bury within his mum's desire to keep the peace, if that wasn't the very definition of absurd, he sighed loudly to himself. Regardless, he still managed to find that he was considered a catch in some quarters, and he found he was able to play the considerate boyfriend up until the point when she decided she was in love with him, and he would gently find a way to convince her otherwise, as he knew she loved her idea of him, because he never allowed anyone close enough to see who he actually was... until Sherlock. 

Twenty years on, he wasn't quite sure what Sherlock would say if John asked him why, out of all the people he had ever met, and he had met plenty, that he had chosen him. Chosen to love him, to accept him with all of his many flaws, even, perhaps especially, rescue him from time to time, on those occasions when John didn't realise he needed to be rescued, usually from himself. Sherlock would probably stop what he was doing, these days it might be mending a fence, or raking some stray leaves, or actually putting the morning dishes away; then turn towards the slightly embarrassed question and roll his eyes...

 

"John?" Sherlock had come in from the snow, finally surrendering to the elements, and was standing in front of the open fridge.

"Yeah?"

"We're out of milk."

"Already?"

"Hmm. I love you."

"Why?" It came out naturally, and the answer came just as easily.

"Never had a choice, really, absurd as it sounds to my own ears. It's as if you became written into my genetic code, from the moment I looked up to see you standing there. I honestly never tried to take it apart, the why of you, of us... some things just are and aren't measurable by instruments that currently exist. Not sure I'd risk it, even if there were. All I know is that I didn't believe love was a real thing, at least not for me, until the day I met you. I'm sorry if that isn't the answer you wanted, or deserve -" His words came to a halt as he felt John's arms slip around him and hold him tightly.

"You're my knight in shining armour, you know that?"

"John -" Sherlock turned in John's arms and words failed him for perhaps the eleventh time in their years together.

"I know it's ludicrous, but you saved me the day we met, just because you saw me, and recognised that I was someone, someone worth your time. No one had ever looked at me like that before - even before Afghanistan - I didn't want to be seen, I didn't think I was anything more than the sum of my parts, but you saw what I could be, somehow you knew I could be enough - it just took me time to know what you saw was real, real enough that I had something to offer you in return. And you gave me that time. I still don't know what it was that I did to deserve you -"

"You exist, John. That's all you had to do."

"And some people say I'm the romantic."

"Well, people are stupid."

"Most people," John suggested quietly.

Sherlock snorted then kissed him slowly and thoroughly, before agreeing with the man who gazed up at him, "yes, most people." Then without missing a beat, he mumbled, "we are still out of milk."

"Milk can wait a bit, don't you think?" John answered and offered Sherlock his hand.

"Oh, I suppose so...."

"Git."

"Bumble..."

"Yes, Bee."

"I do love you."

"I know."

"Very much."

John met Sherlock's slightly worried eyes and shook his head. "I've never doubted it, not once."

"Good. Now come along, my damsel in distress, and let me show you."

"Thought you'd never ask."


End file.
